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Page 392
for the mace fastened to his saddle. Ian let his horse run past, then wheeled it round.
Cornhill was already gone, hopefully to nurse his broken fingers. Saer de Quincy was just going down. Ian saw one of the attackers drag the shield from his arm, another seize his sword. He braced himself for a new onslaught, but there was no need. Without a glance in his direction, the three rode off, losing themselves in the mass of fighting men and clouds of dust. Thoroughly bemused, Ian looked toward FitzWalter, who was still heavily engaged. He was faced with a ridiculous point of honor. Technically it was his duty to attempt to rescue the man.
Like a gift from heaven came a single knight who called a challenge. Blessing the man, whoever he was, Ian caught the stroke he launched and attended to his own businessbut not too energetically. Fortunately, his opponent was not his equal, because Ian was still shaken, now and again, with most untimely mirth. But, between fits of laughter, he watched FitzWalter's battle. It did not last long. Shield and sword were wrenched from him. Ian parried the blows his blessing aimed at him with inattentive precision. The behavior of the first trio of knights was suggestive but no guarantee of the behavior of this second group. And, for a moment it looked as if they were, indeed, of a different mind, for they turned from FitzWalter and rode toward Ian. However, they did not pause. Swerving off to the right, they left Ian to his mismatched fight.
With a few powerful strokes, Ian disarmed the country squire who had sought to try his strength. He did not listen to the man's name. All desire to laugh had left him. He had recognized one of the shields. Sir Robert de Remy was one of the second group of three.
"Now that," a pleasant voice behind Ian said, "was very odd, very odd indeed."
Ian ground his teeth. "I swear it was none of my doing. I"

 
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